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Too much!

Not enough.

I continue to remove another petal of myself 

Too much...

Not enough.

To become who I think you want me to be

Too much,

Not enough?

Too much.

Not enough...

Then I remember I have a Creator 

He is the Almighty gardener who prunes, not picks

Mangoes, avos, marriage

All things that are better when they’re ripe

And they aren't ripe until you knów they are

You can't squeeze them ready

Just know the wait is worth it

Because when you have a good one that's all you think:

God, I love mangoes.

Wow, I love avos.

“I wonder where I put my blue pen,”

“Does it have to be blue?”

“No it’s just what I was writing in my journal with,”

“Are your thoughts blue then?”

I laughed, blinked,

Perhaps that’s the problem -

I just need to change my pen!

Stop writing blue

Start writing what’s true -

black on white, instead.

Die litchi plaas het bietjie later oopgemaak,

die vrugte was nog nie ryp nie

Maar hulle is daar, in trosse

Mamma het altyd gesê

“Moenie ryp druk wat net tyd en son nodig het nie.”

Ek wag al so lank vir die seisoen om aan te breek

A life policy can't turn the electric blanket on for me

It can't help me understand taxes

It doesn't remind me I deserve better than that guy

It cannot walk me down the aisle one day

It won't make jokes or laugh at mine

A life policy can't answer the phone when I am scared 

I am not good enough

Bad thoughts are like cigarettes

They are not bad for you if you just hold it

But when you let them burn, inhale, taste them

It is oddly calming, feels right

They will stain you, and your mom will smell it

With time it will kill you

over-whelm-ed

What does “whelm” even mean?

In Zulu it is ekhunga-the-kile

“ to turn (something, such as a dish or vessel) upside down - ”

In French, ac-ca-blé 

“ - usually to cover something: or engulf completely - ”

In Portuguese it is sobre-carre-gado

“ - with usually disastrous effect ”

I still do not understand - 

Tonight in the shower

I had a moment of clarity

But I am wary

of even the clearest of thoughts

Because often

that is what depression feels like

Even the darkness can feel so

absolutely dark - that it feels sobering

It feels like you finally see the truth

I did not love you 

For fear of my own rejection

I too have a Free State number plate

and I am white,

You were a blessing 

but I saw you as Privilege.

it really was an accident though -

“I’m sorry!” I scream into the scrap yard

You are bleeding !

So much blood everywhere,

But it’s not just yours

He bled too - and died - for you

The blood doesn’t stop

You have it on your hands (As do I)

Why won’t you accept the transfusion

Even when it’s “all stitched up”

- it just bleeds to the inside

ek sal nooit vir my kinders vertel

dat mamma toe mamma vyf-en-twintig was

‘n matras gekoop het 

wat te klein was vir my bed se basis nie

(perongeluk)

dat ek al daardie tyd gewens het 

hulle was al daar

sodat die randjie rondom 

die perfekte vastrapplek sou wees

ek het jou vriendskap verloor maar

ek hou nog die herinnering van jou vas

soos ek die verlate babatjie in die paediatriese saal vashou

versigtig

hartseer

dis jammer, sê mens

wat maak ons met jou?

hy het rede om te huil al weet hy dit nie

He knocked and knocked

I scrambled and scurried,

Finally opening the door to a gentleman -

He embraced me, “I am so glad - ”

“But, but - ”

“I Am. Here.”

Years later,

You no longer have to knock

because the house is Yours

I no longer hurry

except to tell You daily:

The Lord brought me flowers

Four times this week -

I push my nose against them

Inhaling the heavenly scent

Taking one to dry and keep forever,

with all the others you’ve given me

They are not roses but metaphors

Sweet, rich

I love seeing your Kingdom reflected in everything -

Thank you Jesus

I love You.

At its most vulnerable sunny side up, 

often enjoyed simply easy over

When it's too soft it runs everywhere, 

hard boiled goes well with a pinch of salt

Some omelettes end up scrambled 

- it takes some practice

(as does poaching). 

Loved by many, though not all,

Humble, yet crucial ingredient

A girl called me “Rooftops” 

a veiled insult, unintentionally prophetic

Then a boy sang “I’m yours”

a teenage confession, unknowingly poetic 

You see, before I knew Him

He hid for me a treasure in the future

Where unveiled, teary eyed from awe:

“from the rooftops I proclaim

That I am Yours, I am Yours”